


Wonderful Madness

by molossiamerica



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: AU, M/M, These two are dorks, they don't know what love is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2016-09-22
Packaged: 2018-08-16 15:28:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8107762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/molossiamerica/pseuds/molossiamerica
Summary: In a universe where nations very rarely love, two nations previously unexposed to romanticism find it in each other.





	

It had begun almost two years ago.

Since the Cold War, things between he and Alfred had been tense. So tense, in fact, that the pair had rarely been seen together without some kind of verbal or physical brawl breaking out. They were on terrible terms, even though the terrible feud between the pair had ended long ago. The official competition had ceased, but a purely personal one had erupted, born of threats and anger and resentment. They were both strong. domineering, and thought they were the best. It was expected for the pair to fight to begin with, but with the routine of conflict still fresh in their minds, these brawls were guaranteed whenever they were in the same room together.

Ivan had been content to hate Alfred since the very beginning of the Cold War; they'd been friends at one point, yes, but the American had grown into an incredibly infuriating man. His idealistic ideas, his obnoxious tendencies, his constant need to be the center of attention... These qualities had brought Ivan's blood to a boil for centuries, but he had been willing to ignore them as long as Alfred was an ally. However, with the start of the war, Alfred was no longer his ally. Even after it ended, Ivan considered Alfred an enemy. Still did, in fact. But...

But he'd been having strange thoughts as of late. Thoughts of Alfred that weren't centered around revenge, hatred, anger, or anything of the sort. Instead, they were focused on Alfred himself, and all of the wonderful qualities he possessed. The Russian would find himself growing dizzy, flushed, his heart pounding, at the mere mention of the American's name. The hairs on the back of his neck rose with every word the blond spoke, and every time those lovely eyes met his Ivan felt faint.

Even when those eyes were glaring harshly at him, hatred burning bright in them as his mouth shot a devilish threat toward the Russian, like he was now.

Now, threats from the American weren't unusual by any means; Ivan had come to expect them, almost found comfort in them. Threats were normal, routine, and they gave him a sense of belonging. Alfred's harshness, his anger, was familiar to Ivan, and the Russian took comfort in knowing where he was supposed to be, of knowing exactly what to do.

But, on this particular day, something even stranger than the strangeness he'd become accustomed to was happening.

Alfred had made a comment about Ivan's sisters, and it had been the last snide remark the Russian was willing to tolerate for the day. He'd reached out, gripping Alfred's neck in both of his strong, pale hands, heaving the younger off his feet and slamming him into the wall with a force that would make any other nation tremble. Alfred, however, was always an exception to the rules Ivan had been so sure of.

He challenged Russia, fought him endlessly and with passion, pushed and pushed and won his fair share of their battles. It was a game, a dance Ivan had played with many nations over the centuries, but never had it been so delightful and terrifying.

Alfred was a fireball. He flitted around at random, rushing from place to place with no order, no pattern, no path. He pushed every limit, broke any rule that didn't suit him, and created his own where it did. He was chaotic, simultaneously full of an idealistic heroism and wise understanding that no evil could every truly be triumphed. His face was one of a man who'd seen so much at too young, and had somehow retained his youth despite his struggles, had overcome them all and continued to fight for values purely of his own invention. He was unpredictable, fiery, passionate, wild, and everything Ivan was not.

Ivan was ice. Cold, calculating, dangerous, steady. Ice crept up, appeared on walls and over lakes at a slow pace. It took a while, but when it finally did reach it's target, it overtook it whole, consuming it until there was nothing left. Ivan was a conqueror. He demanded control, dominance, absolute power, in every aspect of his life. He was unyielding, made of storms and snow and ice to his very core.

And, somehow, Alfred was melting him.

"Go on, try and kill me. I dare you." The American rasped, a sadistic smirk on his face even as he gasped for air, making no move to so much as strain against the hand that held him down.

Ivan's eyes went wider than saucers and, with an abruptness that startled even him, he retracted his hand. Alfred hit the floor on his feet, raising a hand to his neck. He looked up to Ivan with confusion swimming in his eyes, the beautiful blue eyes Ivan had spent many a night awake thinking of, reflecting on with an intensity previously known to the stoic Russian.

They both knew something was wrong.

Ivan was unyielding, and yet he had given in. He'd let Alfred go, afraid to hurt him. His mind was whirring, his hands shaking, his heart pounding madly in his eardrums. Seeing Alfred like that, seeing him in a situation where he could be hurt, could be killed—well, temporarily, as all nations lived until their nations dissolved—it had made his heart ache. He'd been afraid, afraid of his own power and afraid of loosing Alfred. He'd been terrified, terrified to cause any harm to this man, this man who had somehow managed to set his stone heart ablaze.

Ivan was utterly and completely confused.

What was wrong with him? Was he ill? Even with the constant and slightly alarming thoughts of the beautiful American in his head, Ivan had been able to direct blows at Alfred. He couldn't count the amount of times he'd drawn Alfred's blood, cut off his air supply until his eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed to the floor, thrown him to the ground. And yet, he'd felt a strange, terrible pang in his heart at the mere thought of hurting Alfred.

Ivan had never felt like this before.

Casting one last bewildered glance at the American, Ivan rushed out of the meeting room, the only evidence of his presence being the silver flask that had fallen from his pocket as he left.

 

 

 

"Hey."

The simple word sent his head spinning.

Ivan looked up from the meeting itinerary he'd been given by Germany, gulping at the sight of Alfred towering over his seated form, all toned muscle, sunkissed skin and hair, freckled cheeks and ferociously beautiful blue eyes...

"You left your vodka at my place last week." The American said, extending an arm.

Ivan looked down at the familiar item, clasped in one of Alfred's gloved hands. He resisted the odd urge to swoon, instead reaching out and very shakily accepting the container. Some of the liquid sloshed around in it, left over and untouched since the Russian had last held it. Alfred stared for a moment, capturing the Russian's deep blue eyes with his own before he twisted on his heel and turned away, walking swiftly back to his assigned seat by his unofficial brother, Canada.

The nations didn't have family, technically. Despite this, most of them had certain people that they considered to be their family. For Alfred, it was Arthur, Francis, and Matthew, mainly. For Ivan, it was Yekaterina and Natalia. Every nation had those that they had formed close bonds with, especially in their early childhood, and it was because of these bonds that the concept of familial relations among nations had come to exist.

In most cases, the only feeling of love that existed among the nations was within these tight, platonic bonds. Only a select, and very lucky, few had been able to experience romantic love within in their lifetimes. The nations fortunate enough to experience this had often experienced it with humans, but also with others; Francis with a woman he called Jeanne, China with several people whose names he'd sworn never to tell, Sweden and Finland, with each other, and Germany and Italy, with each other.

Every other nation had lived completely devoid of romantic love. Ivan often found himself growing sad when he thought of this; the few who had been in love, or were currently, described it as such a joyful and beautiful experience. In the past, the Russian had even brought himself to tears, so overcome with the sadness of his reality. That he would never love or be loved in return... It seemed so heartbreaking, especially when he thought of his people, or people in general.

Humans experienced love so freely and so frequently. Each human was encouraged, even expected, to find love with someone else. Songs were written of it, movies made, shows centered around it. It was a universal trait, valued across every continent and culture in the world. And yet, the representations of those cultures lived a life devoid of it. Most every nation alive lived completely cut off from what was commonly referred to as the most powerful force on Earth, the most important thing of all.

Thoughts of love had often brought up thoughts of this nature, depressing thoughts that the Russian would rather not think. Now, however...

Lately, thoughts of love seemed to bring up thoughts of Alfred, and vice-versa. He did not think of one without thinking of the other, and it confused Ivan. He'd spent months and months contemplating his strange, subconscious association of the two; Alfred and love were completely unrelated, and yet, his mind seemed to think that they were interconnected in a way currently unforeseen to the Russian's consciousness. It was confusing, but not entirely unwelcome.

While thoughts of love had previously made Ivan incredibly sad, now they seemed to lift his heart a bit. Alfred was becoming an oasis, someone whom he could think of and retreat into a state of comfort, of happiness and warmth. Thinking of love made Ivan happy and hopeful for reasons he couldn't explain. Even so, he accepted this, willing to deal with confusion if it would allow him to find joy in something that had surrounded him but previously made him miserable.

With the meeting adjourned, Ivan jolted away from his thoughts. Had he really spent the entire meeting thinking of Alfred and love yet again? It seemed to be happening more and more, and the things he thought were becoming odder and odder...

"Hey, commie! What's with ya starin' at me the whole meeting, dude? Trying to follow in Belarus' footsteps?"

An odd mixture of anger, excitement, and nervousness overtook Ivan at the sight of Alfred approaching him. As was usual for him, he opted to express his anger above his other emotions, fixing Alfred with a dark scowl. Although his hatred for the American had disappeared sometime with the last two years, the Russian was still absolutely determined to keep up this charade. If Alfred knew his true feelings, he'd surely think him crazy; whatever this feeling was, it was abnormal and embarrassing. How did you tell your sworn enemy that you'd fantasized about them kissing you, sweeping you into their arms and spinning you around. How did he tell Alfred that he'd spent entire nights awake merely thinking of his smile, his laugh, his lovely voice and hypnotizing stare? Was it even possible to inform a person of such ridiculous things without seeming absolutely insane?

"Why would I waste my time staring at a pig like you? Perhaps if I wanted to induce vomiting I might spend excessive amounts looking at you, but I have no such desire at the moment." The Russian replied with a cold smirk. At one time, these insults came naturally to him.

Now, he had to strain his mind to think one step of Alfred just to come up with a prompt response. The Russian felt conflicted with every negative word he directed at the American; in his past, he'd heartily believed what he was saying, and so it had been incredibly easy to demean the young man in such a way. As time progressed, however, it became more difficult, until he had finally arrived at his current thought process. Alfred deserved none of the insults Ivan threw at him, and therefore it was a bit of a challenge to come up with them.

Alfred folded his arms across his chest. "Dude, ya don't have to lie! Just admit you were being a creep and I'll go easy on ya."

"I can assure you, you're the last person I would ever 'creep' on, as you would put it. I have no desire to spend any time with or around you, let alone waste an hour of my time looking at you from a distance. Perhaps your large ego has distorted your perception of reality? It would make sense, what with the nonsense that is constantly pouring out of your mouth. Did you learn it from that obnoxious Englishman?"

Alfred's eyes darkened instantly. "You're just jealous because I have family that actually cares about me. All you have is a creepy stalker and a girl who only cares about her boobs." He growled harshly.

"Really? It is interesting that you say that, because I distinctly remember England burning your newly-built capital to the ground when you were much younger! Is that what you would call caring?"

Alfred took a step forward, a telltale sign that he was ready to fight. "This is your last chance. Shut the fuck up or I'll make you."

"I'm not sure you could take me," Ivan smiled cheekily at the seething American.

Alfred let out a snarl and lunged forward, winding his fist back as he stepped toward the Russian. Ivan stared, waiting for the fist to hit him, only to blink rapidly when he realized that Alfred had frozen with his hand inches from his face. They both stayed that way for a moment, staring at each other with equal amounts of shock on their faces.

The American dropped his hand, an oddly pained expression on his face, and fled the room before anything further could be said.

 

 

 

Alfred shoved Ivan against the wall, growling roughly as he snatched a patch of the Russian's pale blond hair and used it to force his head back. He snarled, his eyes filled with a ferocious fire that made the Russian tremble with excitement and his heart swell with admiration. Even when Alfred was threatening him, hating him, Ivan found him incomprehensibly beautiful; he was an angel, a picture of purity and loveliness beyond anything that the man had ever seen.

Alfred pressed himself closer to the elder, gazing intently into his eyes. Ivan was still, unwilling to make a move lest he ruin the moment. He was utterly captivated by the American, wishing only to spend as much time as he could close to the man. He needn't worry, though; before he could do anything to make Alfred move away, the American pushed forward, closing in the distance between them.

Ivan's entire body jolted at the sudden press of Alfred's lips against his own, dark eyes widening to the size of saucers. The hand in his hair loosened, resting on his head enough to be comfortable; enjoyable, even, for the Russian.

It took a moment for the elder to truly realize what was happening; Alfred was kissing him. The American was working his lips against Ivan's with a level of expertise previously unknown to the elder, the sensation better than anything else he'd ever experienced to date.

What was this feeling?

Ivan had been kissed plenty of time before, and he'd done many things much more intimate than this. He was far from a virgin, much like most of the nations. Although there was no romantic connotation behind sexual relations for nations like there often was when it came to humans, it was still a source of amazing pleasure. Nothing, however, compared to the pleasure he was receiving from Alfred's kiss alone. It was utterly mind-blowing, simply the most amazing thing he'd ever felt. His mouth felt as if it were on fire, his brain as if it were short-circuiting.

Alfred's hands shifted, beginning to massage tender circles against the Russian's hips. Ivan's knees weakened, threatening to give way beneath him, and he couldn't help but to let loose a pleasure-filled sigh at the sensations that overtook him with the simple touches. His thighs had erupted in flames, his body positively flushed from the attention it was receiving. Every single nerve in his body felt alive, every sense heightened, and everywhere Alfred touched tingled, as if the American was shocking him.

Ivan shifted, both hands coming up to grip Alfred's forearms. He wanted the American desperately, craved him more than he had craved anything in his long lifetime. Even so, he couldn't find the force within him to wrench the American closer, to take control of the kiss as he so often liked to do. Instead, he found himself weak before Alfred, completely hypnotized.

He was completely malleable in the hands of the American, weak and willing. He was Alfred's, completely Alfred's. He wanted nothing more than to do whatever he could to please the American, to be near him, to keep touching him and kissing him and feeling this perfect, blissful pleasure.

Alfred shifted, maneuvering one of his strong, beautiful legs between both of Ivan's. Ivan's inner thigh erupted in flames where the American's leg touched his own, but it was nothing compared to what happened next. The American raised his knee upward, pressing it against Ivan's throbbing manhood. He gave the elder a moment to recover, smiling when the Russian moaned into their kiss. Then, taking pleasure in having the Russian in such a state, he lifted his knee higher, amplifying the pressure between the Russian's legs.

Ivan melted, utterly and completely overtaken by desire. He wanted Alfred, needed him. Needed his touch, his kiss, his smile, his eyes, his smile... Nothing could compare to the American, nothing could ever feel as good as the pleasure he received when he was near Alfred, ravished by him like he was now...

The American leaned forward even more, all of his weight resting atop the Russian. Slowly at first, he began to rotate his knee, grinding it upward against the Russian. Ivan whimpered and moaned desperately, lost in unadulterated desire. He was mesmerized, completely mesmerized by the pleasure he was receiving. His entire body was flushed, trembling, desperate to do anything he could in order to please the American.

He'd lost control, relinquished it completely for Alfred. He was laid out bare before him, powerless in the younger's strong, capable hands. Alfred was everything, his body and his mind and his heart were all Ivan wanted, and he was completely consumed by need for the American. His mind was blank, erased of all thoughts aside from the devilishly handsome, slightly obnoxious American before him.

Ivan wanted to be controlled, to be taken and used in whatever way the American pleased. Alfred was absolutely hypnotizing; with every touch, every kiss, every word, Ivan sank deeper and deeper into his trance. Alfred had taken hold of him, invaded every sense. He whimpered and moaned profusely, having lost all inhibitions long ago. He was merely a man wanting another; there was no enemies, no friends, no nations, only two souls tied together, pressing against each other, wanting to be together.

Alfred stopped. Ivan whimpered when he pulled away, his lips trembling. Alfred took a small step backward, lowering his knee.

"Ivan," he whispered, and the Russian was certain that he'd never heard his name spoken so beautifully before.

The man in question gulped, face flushed and mind still numb to come up with any sort of response. Alfred reached out, caressing the Russian's cheek with a gentle, calloused palm. The Russian tilted his head toward it, eyes fluttering and closing. He relished in the contact, but frowned when the American removed his hand and let it drop to his side, leaving Ivan completely void of his touch. The elder frowned, troubled by the sudden lack of contact.

"I'm sorry. I... I don't know. This doesn't—I-I don't know why this is happening to me. I... I-I have to go."

Like always, Alfred twisted on his heel and left the room without looking back. Ivan slid to the floor, bringing a hand to his kiss-bruised lips with a sigh.

 

 

For four days, Ivan and Alfred had absolutely no contact.

Then, with a suddenness that the Russian should be used to, Alfred grabbed his wrist and dragged him out of the meeting room.

"I need to talk to you." Alfred said in response to the Russian's incoherent stuttering, hurriedly wrenching him into the nearest unoccupied room.

"Wh-What is it?" Ivan asked, feeling his pale cheeks redden against his will as he stared at the American.

Ever since that night, he'd been even more affected by Alfred than usual; he was constantly reminded of what had happened, and no matter what he did, he couldn't seem to keep it off his mind. He thought of his feelings, desperately tried to understand them with no success. Even more so, he thought of Alfred, wishing and praying that he could know what he'd been thinking, that he could comprehend even a bit of what the younger had been trying to accomplish with his actions.

"Well, here's the thing, I—"

"Alfred, I-I—Why did you kiss me?" Ivan interrupted, unable to keep the question to himself. He was desperate to know, and the possibilities had plagued him for days.

"Well, 'cause—"

"Was it to intimidate me?" Before Alfred could finish, the Russian spoke again, his thoughts a frenzy in his mind.

"No! I wanted to—"

"I'm very concerned with the nature of our relationship. It seems that we are both facing some level of mental instability, and I am certain that I especially am going relatively insane—"

"Woah, woah, what? Dude, listen to me, I think I know what's—"

"I've been having the most ridiculous thoughts and it seems that you are too. I believe that we may have somehow triggered some sort of odd mental frenzy within in each other, and I—"

"I'M IN LOVE YOU!"

Ivan froze, eyes widening to the size of the saucers. His jaw dropped, utterly shocked by the words the American had yelled.

Love? Alfred loved him? What's more, Alfred was iin/i love with him? Ivan's mind began to whir; love? Love was something for special nations, for good nations, for those pure and deserving, worthy of it. Love was not for him, cruel and cold and undeserving, especially of a heart so rare and pure as Alfred's.

But, what the others said... When China had described it to him, he had told Ivan it was something with no reason; it was unpredictable, crazy, and utterly unstoppable. Love made people crazy, set their hearts on edge and their minds over the edge. It overcame all, turned lives upside down, changed everything, and felt amazing.

Ivan gulped as the pieces in his mind suddenly came together.

"Love..."

"I—I've never been in love before, but I asked Arthur, a-and... I know I'm in love with you. That has to be it. I-It's the only explanation. I feel like I'm going insane, I..." Alfred ran a hand through his hair. "You've been driving me insane, and not in the way you used to. Every time I look at you I just wanna be closer. I-I couldn't even hit you the other day 'cause I was so afraid to hurt you. I thought something was wrong with me. But... But you did the same thing. You let me go. A-And I think it was for the same reason. You—you're feeling this too, right? At least some of it?"

Ivan smiled, slowly approaching Alfred. He brought a gentle hand to the blond's face and rested it on his cheek, sighing with delight. "I have waited so long to hear you say that, and I had no idea." He replied in a soft, light tone, ecstatic.

The American blinked, breath hitching in his throat a moment before he replied. "You love me too?"

"Was it not obvious?" Ivan questioned, quirking a pale brow. " I... I am in love with you, Alfred. I... It makes sense now, looking back on my actions; everything China told me of love applied to me, and yet I could not face what was directly in front of me."

The American smiled, leaning closer. "Thank God. I seriously thought I was going insane for a while there."

"Perhaps that is what love is," mumbled Ivan as he leaned closer, his lips touching as Alfred's as he spoke. "I am utterly mad for you, Alfred. But it is the most wonderful madness I have ever had the pleasure to feel."

Alfred's hands found the Russian's hips, tugging the man closer to him. He smirked rakishly against the man's lips.

"I finally know what they mean when they say 'I'm crazy about you' in the movies. I'm crazy about you, Ivan."

"Mm. I'm crazy about you too, Alfred."

**Author's Note:**

> De-anon from the kink meme!
> 
> As always, reviews add fuel to the fire.


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